


a song skims over the nile,

by lesbianmcqueen



Category: Bartimaeus - Jonathan Stroud
Genre: Gen, bartimaeus pov, prose poetry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-04
Updated: 2020-07-04
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:28:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25075381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lesbianmcqueen/pseuds/lesbianmcqueen
Summary: call it the earth turning.
Kudos: 11





	a song skims over the nile,

in the end the dirt

there's no body under this stone. just grass and earth and rats and worms and the bones of roman buildings, roman soldiers. and beneath that, the dust of some other, older ancient city indistinguishable from the sand & the sulfur

rome rose

and fell

(no thanks to the soldiers)

nobody asks for a martyr. he wouldn't be one otherwise.

in egypt,

where they cannot tell you what the pharaohs sung as children,

you will see a boy running home as dusk settles. he will be sun-dusted, sandstormed,  
holding a hen by the throat. ask him where he heard the melody he's humming.

he will think for a moment and stare up the street, knowing your question is important by the way you say it.  
he will tilt his head. he will tell you the truth.

he will tear away from your grip on his shoulder and be home before his mother loses patience.

a man walks on water, call it a miracle.

a song skims over the nile, call it the earth turning.

there's an old english nursery rhyme

that you must have sung when you were small, before it left you as smoke, or melted into your spinal cord in a pool of butter—

it's posited that the poem originated as either

1) a game of curtsies

2) the sapling's way of coming to terms with the black death

3) a fairy tale

_once upon a time there was a child blessed by higher spirits. whenever he laughed, roses would fall from his mouth to the earth and take root at his feet. soon he was surrounded by a thicket of thorns, and his hands were bruised and bloody. the flowers, too, were red as a split lip. he taught himself not to laugh. he cut his way out of the bushes. he lived_

_& died, as boys and flowers  
_ _and empires do_

dust on the nile, salt on my hands

the _bones._ when i die my essence will be air. when you strike a match i will be the fire that burns  
in the cup of your palm. i will be as everywhere as dead children are nowhere at all.


End file.
